


Territorial

by Kantayra



Series: The Masters and Doctors in the Matrix [7]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Animal Instincts, Bargaining, Bickering, Chases, Cheetah Sex, Cheetah Virus, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Con Roleplay, PWP, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23704378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: Trapped again on the Cheetah Planet, this time with two feral Masters hunting him down, the Seventh Doctor is forced to consider the possibility that his fantasies might just be getting kinkier as he grows older. All the cheetah sex is a definite clue.
Relationships: Seventh Doctor/The Master (Ainley), Seventh Doctor/The Master (Ainley)/The Master (Macqueen), Seventh Doctor/The Master (Macqueen), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), The Doctor/The Master/The Master (Doctor Who)
Series: The Masters and Doctors in the Matrix [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592659
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Territorial

**Author's Note:**

> Although all the sex in this fic is consensual roleplay, it does involve sex under the influence of the cheetah virus (intentionally) and the Doctor and Masters getting off on some of the more non-con/dub-con aspects of cheetah sex.
> 
> I will confess that this fic is mostly for porn: I just really wanted more for both ‘Survival’ and the audio ‘The Two Masters’, and this is what my brain spilled out.
> 
> Master Numbering Scheme: Once the Doctor gets over his bout with the cheetah virus and has enough higher thought processes to count again, the Masters are: Delgado/Pratt/Beevers/Ainley/Roberts/Goo-Snake = 13, MacQueen = 14.

Before him, the grass stretched as far as the eye could see, vanishing into the red of the setting sun.

Behind him, to the right, the Doctor heard a deep churring call. A pause, and then an answering call from his left. They were closing in on him then, hemming him in with a pincer manoeuvre.

He debated running again, but he was still fatigued with the previous sprints to outpace his hunters. They had been so very persistent. Dogged. Relentless. A shiver ran down his spine.

Another churr call-and-response. There were closer now. So very, very close. The Doctor scented the evening air. The smell of his own sweat and anticipation was palpable, carrying downwind. There was no hope that his pursuers could miss it. And then, at the edges of his awareness, he sensed it. First the one on the left: a cloud of musky, aroused pheromones that made the Doctor’s head spin.

He squinted in the direction of the brush. The last remnants of daylight were a deep crimson now, casting sharp shadows across the landscape. They disguised the figure at first as it stalked slowly, stealthily into the open savannah, swaying in time with grasses in the wind to disguise its approach. His pursuer’s appearance was almost like an optical illusion: at first the Doctor saw nothing but grass and brush and shadows, and then suddenly there was a tall dark figure at the centre, eyes slitted and golden, fangs glimmering at the edges of a feral smile that was framed by the dark outline of his beard, sleek black velvet lining a strong torso and tented noticeably at the front of his tight trousers.

“Hello, Doctor,” the Master purred, quite literally, obviously more than gone under the influence of the cheetah virus’ effects.

The Doctor moved to clear his throat, and a little rumble of his own escaped involuntarily. He could feel the animal inside him rising, responding to the Master’s obvious arousal. He had little doubt that his eyes had gone over catlike now as well, as control was wrested from him, leaving only raw instinct.

The snap of a twig sounded behind the Doctor, and he spun abruptly, shocked at how close his second pursuer had become while the Doctor had been distracted by the Master’s approach.

His second pursuer’s scent was more subtle, chilled and crisp, but the undercurrent of arousal was there, too, just as inescapably. His second pursuer was also, of course, the Master, but the next incarnation. The other tormentor of this Doctor’s lifetime: charming, annoyingly gleeful, and diabolically twisted. He wasn’t as far gone as the bearded Master (or, more than likely, the Doctor): the yellow glow just beginning to creep into the edges of his irises, canines still rounded at the tips.

The latter Master looked incongruously out of place: grey bespoke business suit and cravat, clean-cut lines, and completely bald scalp. Nothing of the wild in him at all until, of course, he stepped close enough that the setting sun caught the possessive hunger in his eyes.

No matter how civilised or urbane any Master had ever pretended to be, they’d always looked at the Doctor with those same covetous eyes.

The Doctor took an involuntary step back and found himself rearing straight into the first Master’s chest. He twisted away from the hands that clasped his hips, the hot breath that exhaled against his cheek, the erection that rubbed against the backside deliberately.

The movement did him no good: he collided with the latter Master now, who – for all that his suit was well-tailored enough to hide it – was just as hard.

The two circled him tightly. Each time he bumped off one, he collided with the other, until he felt the world spinning around him. In another lifetime, when he was _himself_ , he would undoubtedly have plotted his way out this: witty repartee and a clever diversion, no doubt. But with the cheetah virus addling his senses, higher thought vanished, leaving him only to _feel_ :

The fear as the bearded Master licked at his throat, dangerously sharp canines only inches from his jugular.

The anticipation as the bald Master brazenly stroked one index finger down the line of his spine.

The sudden shock of lust when the bearded Master edged back around and sunk his teeth into the Doctor’s nape just hard enough to hold him in place. Trapped.

The Doctor tried to run again then, purely on instinct, but the two Masters held him caged between them. One of their feet nudged against his right knee from behind, causing it to buckle, sending him to the ground on all fours, the two Masters bearing him down like an especially delectable kill.

Arousal spiked hot and heavy in the Doctor in response, the Masters’ reward for being such cunning hunters: a willing and ready mate.

The bald Master crouched low in front of the Doctor, nostrils flaring once at the scent of the pheromones the Doctor was now exuding. He grabbed the Doctor’s cheek roughly in one palm, and smashed his lips onto the Doctor’s hard. His eyes had finally gone gold now too, and they glowed with feral lust as the Doctor felt one of the Master’s canines sink into his hip.

The Doctor tasted blood and tried to pull back, but the bearded Master still had him trapped by the scruff of his neck, his bite strangely gentle despite being firm and unyielding. The bearded Master’s body covered his, his chest pressed tight against the Doctor’s back and his hips rolling into the Doctor’s body suggestively. The Doctor squirmed against him experimentally, and suddenly the bearded Master’s hand came round to clutch at the belt of his trousers.

In short, jerky gestures, the bearded Master got the Doctor’s trousers unfastened and dragged halfway down his thighs, exposing his skin to the chilling twilight air. The Doctor shivered, not at the cold, but at the sudden _warmth_ as the bearded Master nudged up between his bare buttocks, his body hot and _alive_ between the Doctor’s legs.

The bald Master growled and looked away from the Doctor, back over the Doctor’s shoulder, obviously communicating with the bearded Master. The Doctor couldn’t see the other side of the exchange, but the two of them must have come to terms, because the bearded Master backed off at that point. The bearded Master still held the Doctor’s neck in place with his teeth, but he sidled out from between the Doctor’s thighs and to his left side, leaving the Doctor’s backside bare and exposed. Offering it.

The Doctor had a moment’s flash of realisation that they were preparing to _share_ him, before it was already happening. The bald Master darted around behind the Doctor, nudging his knees outward to spread him wider, and then mounting the Doctor properly: thighs pressed up tight between the Doctor’s cheeks, arms framing the Doctor’s shoulders. The Doctor squirmed, but the bearded Master held the Doctor resolutely in position: no give there, no mercy.

At the first press of the bald Master against him, the bald Master’s erection was still covered by the fine wool of his suit trousers. But then, as if satisfied that he had the Doctor positioned exactly where he wanted him, the bald Master leaned back for a few seconds. The clink of metal on metal sounded dimly against the calls of the night, a belt buckle unfastening, being shucked aside carelessly as the bald Master hurried to rid himself of his trousers and pants.

When he pressed into the Doctor’s backside a second time, his cock was slick and hot and bare against the Doctor’s entrance, hard flesh against yielding.

The Doctor did struggle then, twisted against them both, despite the sharpness of the bearded Master’s teeth and the strength of the bald Master’s arms, now clutched tight about his chest. It was all useless. The _Doctor_ Doctor might have worked a way out of his predicament, but the _Cheetah_ Doctor lowered his head in submission, acknowledging that, after their impressive chase, they’d _earned_ him.

The bearded Master purred, as if in satisfaction at the Doctor’s valiant struggles and final surrender, like he enjoyed the feel of the Doctor defenceless beneath his teeth. The Doctor whimpered at the thought.

And then, suddenly, the bald Master thrust into the Doctor, the head of his cock breaching the Doctor’s body, sharp and sweet and with just the right tinge of pain.

The Doctor snarled in response, base animal complaints all that were left to him now, and then grunted aloud at the bald Master’s second thrust, this one inserting him the rest of the way, as the Doctor’s passage yielded to the long, relentless intrusion.

The bald Master held still in place for one moment, his hands returning to the earth on the outsides of the Doctor’s hands, framing the Doctor’s penetrated body, giving the Master added strength and leverage he’d been lacking when he’d been holding the Doctor trapped in place.

Then, quick and hard, the bald Master began thrusting in and out of the Doctor’s body, each piston movement of his hips driving anguished little hisses from the Doctor’s lips. The Doctor ground his palms down into the dirt, trying to keep from rocking forward at the force of the Master pumping relentlessly in and out of him.

The bald Master let out a low growl, sounding full-gone feral now, and in response the bearded Master finally released his grip on the Doctor’s neck. The bald Master’s teeth were on the Doctor’s scruff instead almost immediately, his canines now noticeably extended into fangs. The strength of his thrusts redoubled now that he had the Doctor pinned between teeth and cock.

The Doctor whimpered at the insistent slide of the Master’s cock in and out of him. The force of their coupling felt jarring down to the bones, as if the Master were touching the very soul of him. His own cock was swollen up against his belly, desperate for the stimulation it was being denied.

He heard a low growl and looked up. Separated from the two of them, the bearded Master was stalking around the pair of them slowly, viewing their mating from every angle with a wicked grin.

The Doctor’s eyes met his, and the bearded Master froze before moving toward them again. He knelt in the dirt just in front of the Doctor, unheeding of the knees of his trousers, and sniffed the air next to the Doctor’s cheek curiously.

The Doctor whimpered when the bearded Master licked a long, slow line up the Doctor’s cheek, starting at the edge of his lips and ending at the corner of his eye. The bald Master paused for one moment before apparently finding their interaction uninteresting and resuming hammering the Doctor’s arse.

The bearded Master moved to repeat the gesture, but the Doctor flicked out his own tongue first, licking across the bearded Master’s lips, instinctively grooming him. A deep purr rumbled through the bearded Master’s chest, and he scrambled for his own trousers, freeing himself.

When he returned, he rubbed the tip of his straining cock against the Doctor’s lips. The scent of his arousal was almost overwhelming, and the Doctor automatically licked out to taste it as well. The bearded Master cupped the Doctor’s cheek, holding him in place, while the Doctor licked wet, firm stripes up and down the length of him, tracking down the source of his scent, finally reaching the Master’s balls and lapping eagerly at them as well.

In the meantime, the bald Master grunted harsh and loud into the Doctor’s nape, and then came deep inside the Doctor with a ragged groan. He pressed his hips up hard and in, filling the Doctor tight as he spilled his seed inside. He held still for a minute after his release, as if to sow himself deep inside the Doctor, and then – with a wet glide and pop – slid out.

The Doctor could feel his entrance twitching, convulsively tensing around the lost intrusion. Against his lips, the bearded Master trembled and finally reluctantly pulled away.

The Doctor had a moment, while the bearded Master circled him, when he could have tried to drag up his trousers and run again. But the mating drive had hit him hard now, inhibitions gone, and instead he just purred and arched his back, offering himself for the next coupling.

The bearded Master slid onto him and into him with a slow slinking movement. The Doctor found himself covered and penetrated in one easy glide, his channel slick with the bald Master’s ejaculate and ready for the next Master to have his turn.

The Doctor had expected the bearded Master to be rough and quick, the same way the bald Master has been. Instead, however, he received the bearded Master’s cock in smooth, long strokes, this Master rocking into him almost gently. A deep rumble vibrated through the Master’s chest, and the Doctor found himself purring in response, turning almost placid under him. He dropped his head down onto his forearms, presenting himself for the taking, and eased himself back in time with the bearded Master’s thrusts.

The Doctor’s pleasure was slow in building, his straining cock still untouched. The bearded Master teased the pleasure centres inside him, and it was _almost_ enough, knowing that he was being used for the Master’s pleasure, for both Masters’ pleasure.

As if sensing the Doctor’s predicament, the bald Master took that moment to approach again, flicking his tongue against the Doctor’s lips. His hand crept down between the Doctor’s legs, found his erection, and began stroking him slowly and sensually.

It took the two Masters a few moments to find a compatible rhythm, but when they did, the Doctor peaked hard and fast: pushing back into the bearded Master’s penetration at the same time that the bald Master jerked down on his cock with just the right amount of pressure.

The Doctor spilled through the bald Master’s hand onto the dried soil beneath him. The force of his orgasm caused him to spasm rapidly around the bearded Master’s cock, drawing out his mate’s pleasure as well. They locked together for a good, long minute afterwards as the bearded Master finished spending himself, before softening and gradually easing back out.

The Doctor slumped to the ground between them when he was finally released.

Slowly, attentively, the bearded Master rolled the Doctor over and began to lick him clean. It was almost too much stimulation after the Doctor had been so hypersensitised, but at the same time it was strangely wonderful.

The bald Master, who had always had a tendency toward in-your-face touching, continued to nuzzle against the Doctor’s cheek, shoulder, chest, and everywhere else he could think of without colliding with the bearded Master.

The Doctor let himself drift off at their aftercare, and when he finally stirred again, they’d bracketed him for warmth in a rather cosy cat-pile.

The Doctor stretched, yawned, extended his fangs in a hiss and then, feeling quite refreshed, ran off again (albeit admittedly not particularly spryly after having been mated so thoroughly), encouraging the hunt to resume anew. He had nearly escaped into the brush once more when he heard a startled bark from one of the Masters, and then the scent of their pursuit of him once more, wild and invigorating.

Who knew how many times before and since they had sought, captured, and mounted him? Numbers were abstract to him in this state, the freedom of the cheetah virus allowing him to merely enjoy without thought of shame or consequence.

Only when their Time Lord stamina finally ran out (whatever that limit might be), would the hunt come to an end, at long last, with the familiar, comforting whooshing of the blue box that had stood as patient sentinel to the chase and conquest, waiting for them to finish before carrying them all safely back home…

***

The Doctor returned to his senses to find himself back in his right mind and bed, sandwiched naked between the two sleeping Masters. Impressively, they’d both found a way to drape arms and thighs over him possessively, so that they formed a cage that turned out of be more effective than any number of chains or prison cells either of them had attempted to hold him in, back during their lives.

The Doctor sighed, somewhere between fond exasperation and annoyed tolerance, and absentmindedly cradled the back of the Fourteenth Master’s bald head in one palm. The skin felt strangely fragile under his touch, the curves of his skull naked and exposed and – if the Fourteenth Master’s shiver was anything to judge by – extremely sensitive. The Doctor stroked the soft, smooth skin the way one might stroke a cat (fittingly enough), enjoying the few stolen moments before the Fourteenth Master woke again, as prickly as ever.

As if that mere thought had been tempting fate, at that moment, on the Doctor’s right shoulder, the Thirteenth Master stirred, nuzzling his beard into the Doctor’s bare clavicle: prickly, indeed. The Doctor hushed him once, hoping for a few more seconds of peace, but no Master in all of creation would ever be so obliging.

Eyelashes fluttered, and the Thirteenth Master’s brow furrowed for one moment, before those startlingly blue-grey eyes blinked awake. A breath, as the Thirteenth Master assessed the situation, and then a slow, languid smile, almost genuine and gentle, as if the Doctor had finally just this once succeeded in well and truly contenting him.

“Doctor,” the Thirteenth Master purred, but only metaphorically now that the TARDIS had pulled them free of the cheetah virus’ heady influence.

“Master,” the Doctor replied cordially and then, hesitantly, he raised his free hand to stroke through this Master’s hair as well.

The Master’s eyes shut at the touch, and he rubbed his temple against the Doctor’s palm. Catlike even without the cheetah virus, it seemed. Abruptly, mid-caress, the Master stopped leaning into the Doctor’s hand, opened one eye pointedly, and demanded, “Well?”

The Doctor couldn’t help snorting to himself: even when being compliant, this Master couldn’t help but be domineering. “Well,” the Doctor repeated unhelpfully.

The Thirteenth Master snorted derisively and rolled over onto his back, stretching long and slow, arms above his head and toes down toward the foot of the bed. The Doctor couldn’t help but appreciate, just for a moment, the lines of his chest, strong but just this side of soft with indulgence. When he was done stretching, the Master tucked the blanket up around his chest (disappointingly) as if cold or (ha!) shy.

“Well,” he said, looking up at the ceiling in the universal position of awkward pillow talk, “was it everything you dreamt?”

The Doctor took advantage of the gap provided to sidle out of the Fourteenth Master’s clutches and lay back to stare at the ceiling as well. It was taupe. How dull. On top of the blanket, the knuckles of his right hand were mere inches from the Thirteenth Master’s left. They stayed that way. “It was…” he conceded slowly, “…satisfactory.”

The Thirteenth Master snorted again. “Do try to restrain your enthusiasm, Doctor. My blushes!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the Doctor shot back, “were you fishing for _compliments_?” Never in a million years would he acknowledge how very much the Master had earned them; the villain’s ego was expansive enough as it was.

“No, of course not,” the Master sniped. “How foolish of me to expect even the slightest appreciation after going well out of my way to arrange such a highly complicated and involved fantasy of yours—”

“—That you conveniently plucked out of my head, while I was sleeping, I might add,” the Doctor complained.

“You were dreaming _loudly_ ,” the Master retorted. “It could hardly be helped.”

“Oh, but I’m sure you tried _ever_ so hard,” the Doctor scoffed.

“My dear Doctor,” the Master said mock-tragically, “must you constantly doubt me so?”

“Yes, yes,” the Doctor agreed, “I really must.” A beat. “And, ahem, _thankyou_.” He hid the run-together words behind a cough.

“What was that?” the Master smirked, side-eyeing him.

“Just a tickle at the back of my throat,” the Doctor insisted.

“But of course.”

“Naturally.”

They shared a moment of quiet, contented enmity.

And then the Master couldn’t resist having the last word, as always: “Shall I infer, then, that you would prefer that such a scandalous thing never happen again?”

“Now, now,” the Doctor relented with a sigh, “let’s not be hasty.”

The Master grinned at him, as if he’d finally caught the Doctor out. The Doctor almost pitied him for thinking that the game he was playing was so straightforward.

The other chess-piece on the board took that moment to awaken. Excellent timing, in the Doctor’s opinion.

“Don’t the two of you ever stop bickering?” the Fourteenth Master complained with a wide yawn. His teeth, while clearly back in the natural range of Time-Lord length, still remained a bit sharp. “I was enjoying an excellent, _well-deserved_ nap.” He leered pointedly at the Doctor and licked his lips.

The Doctor sighed and beckoned him over for a kiss. The Fourteenth Master moaned into it, undulating against the Doctor’s body once pointedly, but it seemed their little excursion back in time to the then-extant Cheetah Planet had achieved its goal of sating his desires, because he didn’t harden again.

He finally pulled away, looking irritated with the Doctor for not immediately arousing him and even more irritated with his previous incarnation for not shoving him aside in a pique of jealousy.

Indeed, the Thirteenth Master bent his head to press a quick kiss to the Doctor’s bare shoulder, but looked otherwise unperturbed by his future self honing in on his territory.

It was a better result than even the Doctor could have hoped for. He tangled his fingers back in the Thirteenth Master’s hair in reward, stroking the soft strands into disarray.

“Oh, don’t be so smug about it,” the Fourteenth Master complained, trying to glare at the Doctor but still looking too sleepily glutted on sex to put his usual menace into it. “Don’t you dare think you’ve _domesticated_ us.”

The Doctor wisely didn’t say a word to either confirm or refute that accusation.

On his other side, the Thirteenth Master grumbled and twisted away from the Doctor’s caresses, looking put out. “Ah, of course that’s it,” he scowled at the Doctor, only slightly more successfully than his successor. “Tried your manipulative hand at working out a little détente between us, hmm?”

The Doctor merely shrugged innocently.

“They think they’re so clever, the Doctors,” the Fourteenth Master said. “I don’t know how we put up with them.”

The Thirteenth Master snorted in agreement. “In all fairness, though, you _were_ being needlessly aggressive, with your habit of interrupting at the most inopportune moments imaginable and constantly picking fights. _Insecurity_ , no doubt.”

The Doctor winced inwardly at that because it really _had_ been intolerable: all those times he and Thirteen had been just getting nice and _cosy_ together, only for Fourteen to pop his head rudely in.

“ _Insecurity_?” the Fourteenth Master objected. “You mean like how _you_ felt the need to follow me around and fondle every Doctor I crossed paths with pre-emptively? It’s not my fault you never learned that sharing is caring.”

The Doctor agreed wholeheartedly with that as well, despite the trite verbiage. The only thing worse than being frustrated with Fourteen sabotaging his trysts with Thirteen, had been Thirteen then turning the tides and blocking his attempts at dallying with Fourteen. Really, it had got to the point where he hadn’t been having any sex at _all_ , which was entirely unacceptable.

“Tell me,” the Thirteenth Master said darkly, “that I did not just say the words ‘sharing is caring’ unironically.”

“Oh, lighten up. Just because we’re Time Lords, doesn’t mean we have to speak as though a thesaurus has given us indigestion.”

“Nor have we need to transform into inarticulate toddlers.” The Thirteenth Master sighed. “I suppose it’s to be expected. A thirteenth regeneration is unnatural, after all. It stands to reason there might be a little temporary…brain-damage.”

“Brain-damage?” Fourteen exclaimed and smacked the Thirteenth Master across his superior face with his pillow.

Remarkably, from the Doctor’s perspective, this was _still_ the best of the two of them had got along since they’d all found themselves in this intricate love-polygon in the Matrix.

The Thirteenth Master looked very unimpressed with his future self. “This is just like that time when you went back in time to try to kill me—”

“—And _you_ nearly killed _me_ instead. Repeatedly!”

“Well, how was _I_ supposed to know that I was me?” Thirteen huffed. “I may have been a bit addled with the decay at the time…”

“You mean temporarily _brain-damaged_?” Fourteen accused.

The Thirteenth Master snarled at him, paused, and then conceded, “Touché.”

They both settled back down on either side of the Doctor again, almost at peace.

That was, until the Fourteenth Master couldn’t resist saying, “In any case, I think you’ll have to agree that this incident has been much less of a _cat_ astrophe!” and cackled outrageously at his joke.

“ _Y-You_!” the Thirteenth Master sputtered indignantly and smacked _him_ across the face with his pillow. “ _No puns_!” he growled.

Surprisingly, the Fourteenth Master didn’t escalate. The two of them really _were_ getting along better, imagine that. “The Doctor enjoys my puns,” he insisted instead with a grumble.

Ah yes. The two of them could only ignore the naked Doctor in their midst for so long, and the Doctor really couldn’t complain about that at all. Both Masters looked at him hopefully. He paused, considered, and then offered, “Not even as _pun_ ishment!”

The Fourteenth Master pouted.

The Thirteenth Master banged his head, as if in pain, against the Doctor’s shoulder and demanded, “Not you too.”

The Doctor concluded that he’d played that exactly right, a win for himself and an equal loss for both his Masters. If he did say so himself, he was becoming quite adept at balancing between the two of them.

“Sooooooooooooooo…” the Fourteenth Master finally drawled out, annoyingly, at the lull in their battle.

The Thirteenth Master gave him an exasperated look. “Oh, what are you after now?”

“Terms?” the Fourteenth Master suggested vaguely.

“Terms,” the Thirteenth agreed.

The two of them really were obnoxiously telepathic when they weren’t squabbling.

“I suppose,” Thirteen began slowly, “I can grant you access to the Doctors you have legitimate claim to, but only those whom you encountered during your life.”

“Oh, _grant_ me access?” Fourteen said snidely. “So very _generous_ of you. Since, as you say, I have _legitimate claim_.”

The Thirteenth Master scoffed. Apparently, that really was the most generous he could be.

The Fourteenth Master’s eyes darkened. “I want more.”

“Well, of course you do. You’re me.”

“I want a _primary_ claim,” Fourteen pressed, “on at least one Doctor.”

For a moment, the Thirteenth Master’s grip tightened possessively around the Doctor, reasserting his ownership. “Not this one,” he hissed menacingly.

“Oh, come now,” the Fourteenth Master said, annoyed. “He foiled me nearly as often as he foiled you.”

“Don’t press your luck.”

“Don’t _you_ be stingy.”

“If you _dare_ —”

“My dears,” the Doctor cut in, “if you’d be so kind as to _not_ barter me about like a prize milk cow while I’m lying right here?”

The Fourteenth Master gave him an unrepentant shrug.

The Thirteenth Master leaned over to give him a long, lingering, territorial kiss. The kiss was really rather lovely, because there was a certain desperate and adoring quality to the Master’s tongue that the Doctor tasted each time their mouths met. However, that loveliness didn’t change the fact that a few seconds’ spat was in deep danger of undoing all the Doctor’s work in setting up this fragile truce between them.

“Spoilsport,” the Fourteenth Master muttered grudgingly, when the Thirteenth Master finally pulled away from the Doctor’s lips and smirked at him triumphantly.

The Doctor placed a firm hand on the Thirteenth Master’s chest, guiding him back down. The last thing he needed was the two of them getting into a physical altercation right in bed, with him in between them. (Or, at least not at this critical moment; that was actually quite an interesting thought once affairs had stabilised more between the three of them.)

“Perhaps,” the Doctor suggested, “you’d prefer to barter _other_ mes, instead.”

The Fourteenth Master got a sly look in his eye, as if he’d spotted his opening. “Fine. You keep your claim on this Doctor. Give me primary claim on the _Eighth_.”

The Thirteenth Master’s hand, which had been trailing up and down the Doctor’s arm avariciously, paused in its movements as he considered this. “You did deal with him nearly equally to what I did,” he admitted.

“Yes, I really did,” Fourteen nodded.

“ _Frustrated_ you quite a bit, did he?”

“You wouldn’t _believe_!” Fourteen groaned with what sounded suspiciously like ecstasy.

The Thirteenth Master stroked his beard slowly, as if pondering deep, philosophical thoughts, and then said, “You are asking me to give up primary claim on a particularly pretty Doctor, you do realise?”

“Oh, come off it,” Fourteen shot back. “It’s not like you’re _using_ him for reasons that, frankly, I find somewhat baffling.” He licked his lips. “After all, as you mentioned, he is particularly pretty.”

“ _And_ ,” the Thirteenth Master insisted, “I was formative in his regeneration. He imprinted on me a bit, if you will. That is a rare and precious thing…sometimes.”

The Fourteenth Master’s eyes widened in realisation. “Oh no! Don’t tell me! Given what he’s like and your luck, he probably wants you to take the form of the _goo-snake_.”

Thirteen made a pained expression.

“Ha!” Fourteen cackled in delight. “I’m right, aren’t I? He actually proposed it!”

“Well…” Thirteen shuddered delicately. And then quickly, “Fine, yes. You may have that exceedingly weird Doctor with his utterly perplexing kinks. _Enjoy_.” The last was said quite sarcastically.

“If the two of you are quite agreed, I can think of much better uses of this time we have together,” the Doctor suggested.

The Thirteenth Master gave him an alarmed look. “Don’t tell me _you_ want the goo-snake now? Can’t I go anywhere without being asked to transform into a goo-snake?”

The Doctor hid his chuckle into a cough. “Ah, no thank you.” He stroked a hand through the Thirteenth Master’s chest hair, down and down, under the blanket until he found something he much preferred to a goo-snake that caused the Master to squeeze his eyes shut tight and rock helplessly into the Doctor’s touch.

Behind him, the Fourteenth Master rolled over, pressing himself against the Doctor’s back and kissing his way slowly down the Doctor’s exposed neck, wet and hot and incredibly erotic.

“But only,” the Thirteenth Master opened one eye to glare at the Fourteenth Master over the Doctor’s shoulder, “if you swear to never, _never_ even _try_ to touch the Third Doctor.”

The Fourteenth Master laughed. “Oh, I wouldn’t _dream_ of it!” he promised.

The Doctor huffed. “And what am I? Chopped liver?”

“You,” Thirteen’s eyes focused with mad intensity on the Doctor’s, “get us both _equally_.”

The Fourteenth Master grazed the Doctor’s ear with his teeth from behind. “Will that meet with your exacting expectations?”

“Ah well,” the Doctor conceded, letting them roll him over between them, “it’ll do.”


End file.
